


Across the stars

by ao_no_uma



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Smut, Tortures, Violence, but nothing explicit I’m unable to hurt characters too much, just cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao_no_uma/pseuds/ao_no_uma
Summary: In the world where the Force binds Jedi and clone commanders together, Wolffe still awaits for his match, hopeful but growing desperate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Looonia16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looonia16/gifts).



> Not my ship, I was only asked very nicely to write it.

The battle of Geonosis was an extraordinary event. For the first time in centuries Jedi joined in the fight, together with the oddity of clone army. The guardians, the peacekeepers, fighting amassed against droid hordes. It was a bad omen, a premonition of the millennia-old tradition coming to an end.

Soon it became clear that this battle wouldn’t be the last. Separatists had gathered much stronger forces than anyone could have foreseen and spread across the galaxy like a virus, taking one system after another. The Republic had an army – unsettling and of suspicious origins, but powerful nonetheless, just like the Senate desperately needed – but it required leaders. And who would lead the troops better than Knights trained from infancy, skilled in fight, tactics and diplomacy, with access to mysterious powers, able of inhuman deeds. Willing or not, Jedi were forced to bend their non-violence rule and defend the peace in the very front lines.  

Clone soldiers scattered all over the galaxy under leadership of Jedi generals. Squads were assigned to tasks and outposts depending on received training and their capabilities, though a bizarre occurrence was noticed – certain Jedi-clone commander pairs worked much better than others. Investigation was launched, and Jedi soon figured out the reason behind it. It was a Force-related phenomenon – between these Jedi and clones formed a Force bond, enhancing their cooperation and individual abilities. Together they performed much better, so it became desirable to pair a Jedi and a commander matching in the Force. It forced a change of the way of choosing task forces. Previously clone squads met a randomly assigned Jedi in Republic outposts. From now on Jedi travelled alone or in small groups to Kamino where they faced a row of commanders, and if they felt a pulse in the Force they were paired together.  

Among clones awaiting on Kamino the new ways started a storm of gossips. No longer skills were the only factor that decided who waited for assignment and who flew to fight. Soldiers that so far seemed the best compulsorily stayed in the base, awaiting for right partner for their commanders.

For example, commander Wolffe and his infamous Wolfpack.

CC-3636, nicknamed Wolffe, had always been in the top of his class. Resilient, headstrong, intelligent, he was expected to take command of elite spec ops squad. He had been assigned a division of best graduates. He had pushed them into endless series of exercises until they had become the best unit on the planet. All they needed was a Jedi leader and being sent to the battle.

The first wave of Jedi arrived on the planet. Wolffe stood at attention in the line with dozens of his brothers in the main hangar, watching silhouettes clad in brown coats spilling out of a cruiser. Jedi approached the clones one by one, marching along the string of commanders. Sometimes a Jedi stopped sharply and ordered the soldier to step forward. Glancing each other in eyes, they both knew they were made for one another.

By the end of day several ships carried newly assigned troops into the stars, toward destined battlefields. Wolffe didn’t find his Jedi, but so did a hundred other commanders. Maybe the next time.

One wave of Jedi after another, crowd of unassigned commanders melted, and Wolffe still awaited. His perfect team was required on front, so as Wolffe hadn’t found Jedi partner yet they were given a new commander and sent away.

When Wolffe heard of it his blood boiled. He usually had no problem with self-control, but it was impossible to stay put when a sense of betrayal shredded his heart. He needed couple hours in a gym to vent out the frustration and disappointment built up in last weeks.

What commander was he if he didn’t even have a team?

He scraped his knuckles raw on a training bag and required medical attention. It gained him a note in records about short temper.

Wolffe grew desperate. Without subordinates he would never join the fight, the only thing he was meant to do in his life. So he gathered the toughest, the most unruly clones, often threatened to be expelled from the program from insubordination. He pushed them through the same regime he’d done with his previous team. This time it cost him much more effort, including brawls and breaking noses, but eventually Wolffe had fought and won brothers’ respect. Wolffe’s squad – nicknamed by fellow clones “Wolfpack”, for the unquestioned loyalty to their leader - once again earned the title of the best on Kamino, although this time “the best” was underlain with “troublesome”. The not best reputation didn’t bother any member of Wolfpack as long as they would get into battlefield at last.

And despite all the efforts, Wolffe failed to find Jedi counterpart each next time.   

When the clones left on Kamino were announced all Jedi generals had been assigned units, Wolffe howled in agony in front of superiors and earned another critical note in records. But what did it matter when he was grounded on the planet?

*          *

He was eating breakfast in cantina without much appetite when he felt it. It wasn’t a verbal call, more like instinct pushing him to follow down blindingly white corridors. Wolffe didn’t know when he had started running, shouldering passersby, deaf to their complaints. He didn’t even care for route. All he must have done was to follow the silent song calling to him.

He only stopped in the hangar. He saw a sleek white-and-navy Jedi starfighter and beside the vessel three people – CC-2109, nicknamed Eon, a member of high command responsible for assigning troops to generals, Jedi Master Shaak Ti who supervised the cloning program, and a Knight Wolffe had never seen before. A Kel Dor, he remembered the name of non-human species. Tall, orange-skinned, with odd mask covering lower half of his face.

Wolffe’s heart was racing from exertion and he was panting, trying to calm down. His stare involuntarily trained at the strange Jedi and he couldn’t tear it off.

‘Who is he?’ the newcomer asked. The mask turned his voice mechanical and devoid of emotions, hard to read.

Wolffe clicked his heels together, straightened his spine and saluted.

‘CC-3636, 104th Batallion, sir!’

‘What does this mean Three-six-three-six?’ Eon hissed annoyed.

Wolffe startled. ‘I… I felt something. An urge to come here. Maybe it’s…’ his voice died out. He looked at the Jedi, desperation plain on his face; he could no longer hide it. He felt it, _it must have been it, they were bonded._

The Kel Dor studied him, eyes hidden behind black protective lenses. Wolffe listened to his own pulse roaring in his ears, waiting for longed answer, _Yes I feel it too_ …

‘I don’t feel anything’ the Jedi said at last and turned away.

Wolffe’s heart stopped beating.

‘Master Plo, don’t pay him attention, he’s lately a bit… Unstable’ Shaak Ti spoke to the other Jedi.

‘Yes. Let’s go’ Eon showed the way to the Jedi and spat to Wolffe a short ‘Get out to your quarters and don’t leave it until high command decide on punishment.’

The three left the hangar and Wolffe dropped on the floor, shaking all over.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Wolfpack members were convinced Wolffe would be demoted and they’d be given a new commander, or assigned to the worst duty in the galaxy at best, after Wolffe’s latest stunt. They supported him, were desperate to get out of Kamino just like him, but so did many other squads. They had to wait for a request of backup or a new front to open before they moved out.

Thankfully Wolffe only got serious scolding from superiors, Wolfpack itself left unharmed.

Soon the war expanded and the high command was forced to deploy troops even without commander-Jedi bonding. The Wolfpack entered the stage, sent as support to distant bases in the Outer Rim. With his record already stained Wolffe kept his head down. Next reprimand might have ended with infinite dismissal from service on front for the whole team, and Wolfpack members, with all their devotion to their commander, didn’t deserve it.

The battalion fought its best. Perfectly trained by Wolffe, they executed each task with maximum proficiency and minimum loses. They were moved from one post to another, then on several battlefields, wherever they were needed. Their obedience was noted and slowly Wolffe’s misbehavior was wiped out of records. He still wished to find _their_ Jedi, leap in ranks instead of protecting meaningless waterhole systems, but so far he hadn’t met him or her yet.

Eventually the Wolfpack was trusted to be sent alone on Khorm, a globe of ice in the Middle Rim. They were to set up a base hidden in frozen mountain range and secure Republic mines, the only worthy thing in the system. After just few weeks on the post the Separatist invaded the planet and took over the mines. The Wolfpack was too short in numbers to fight back and was instructed to monitor the situation and wait for backup.  

Before the support arrived Separatists had built a weather-control station in the main mine that prevented the Grand Army from air assault. Clone troops were secretly dropped nearby the base, and together with them a Jedi general Kit Fisto. Wolffe and the Jedi quickly got along - they shared similar point of view on tactics, and Master Fisto was an enjoyable companion. It was the first time Wolffe had an occasion to work so close with a Jedi. He and Fisto weren’t bonded – much to Wolffe’s grief, he really liked to work with him – but understood each other so well nonetheless, Wolffe could only imagine how it could be even better when he found _his_ Jedi.

The plan of the raid was simple – the Wolfpack would attack the front entrance to draw Separatists’ attention while the rest of clones under Fisto’s lead aim for backdoor, break inside and disable the station. It put the Wolfpack at risk of heavy counterfire but Wolffe trusted his people’s training. They were able to handle it.

At first glance everything went just as planned. Surprisingly the main door were guarded with only a handful of B1s and two B2s. The team breached into an empty hall. Clankers were nowhere to be seen. It was alarming. Instinct blared loud in Wolffe’s head, shouting to expect a trap.

And it came, with swirl of twin red lightsabers and shower of bolts. Rows of droids emerged from darkness and a black-red-pale storm surged toward the clones. In a flash first trooper fell with a shout, cut by crimson blade, and the mysterious warrior darted sideways for next victims.

Wolffe had heard grim gossips about Sith Lady Asajj Ventress and her deadly abilities. He would wonder what Separatists mercenary was doing in this frigid hell but he was too busy with shooting.

Part of the battalion took aim at her and forced her to turn defensive. Deflected bolt hit another trooper in chest; Spike, Wolffe recognized markings on his armor.

Clankers toppled, shot square in chests or heads. Wolffe smirked, proud of his men. That level of perfection had cost them lots of work, but it was worth it. Soon the floor was covered with wrecks and only Asajj fought on, bringing death to next troopers.

The woman turned to Wolffe, menacing eyes fixing at his helmet’s visor. She must have spotted he’s a commander. She charged directly at him, waving her blades to reflect oncoming bolts. Wolffe swerved back; he had no chance against her in close quarters. She whirled to avoid another wave of blasts; stray bolt hit top of Wolffe’s helmet, knocking it off his head.

He saw terrifying tattooed face crumpled with fury and the lightsaber cut across Wolffe’s face.

Excruciating pain sent him to knees, clutching at the wound and whimpering. He couldn’t move, didn’t see, didn’t feel anything but agony searing his face. He registered distant sounds of ongoing battle, buzzes of blasters and sabers, but it shortly diminished into static when Wolffe lost consciousness.

*          *

First returned the pain. Half of his face was numb with ache and the other throbbed painfully. Pain was what pulled him back to reality. As second returned touch. There was a cold rough surface under his cheek. He was lying, perhaps on a floor, with his arms wrung behind his back and tied together. Ankles were immobilized too. Next came back hearing, with muffled voices, somewhat familiar, but still incomprehensible.

At last Wolffe risked opening eyes. Or rather only one eye, the left one. The right was blistered and swollen shut.

His vision was blurred, teary. He was in a dimly lit room, white plates of troopers’ armors almost glowing in darkness. Beside him were four – or maybe five? everything was fuzzy – fidgeting white-and-black silhouettes. He blinked couple times until his view cleared. Beside him sat four members of the Wolfpack.

‘Where are we? Where’s the rest?’ Wolffe groaned and immediately whined. Every move of mouth pulled at injured skin, inciting next wave of pulsing pain ripping his face.

‘The rest is dead’ replied quietly Comet, sitting the closest to the commander. ‘We didn’t last long after you fell, sir. They took us prisoners. We’re now in a cell in upper level of the mine.’

Wolffe gave him a nod. Wolfpack soldiers were valiant and would rather fight to death, so he believed they had done everything they could.

‘And the others?’ he asked trying to not to move his lips.         

Comer shook his head. ‘Dunno. We haven’t seen them nor had a contact with them.’

‘How long?’

‘Hard to say. Couple hours.’

Wolffe grunted. Carefully he heaved to sitting, wincing at every shift of face muscles. He urged to touch the wound and assess the damage, and it was impossible as long as his hands stayed bound.

‘How does it look?’ he quickly regretted an attempt of sly smile.

‘Bad, sir’ Alpha noted grimly. ‘You should be treated by meds. The eye is already lost.’

There were more pressing issues than Wolffe’s eye. Before the commander spoke again the door slammed open, revealing Asajj Ventress herself at threshold.

‘Hello little troopers. Enjoying your stay?’ she smirked.

‘A little more sunshine wouldn’t hurt’ Big Mouth bit back with a grin.

In answer Asajj waved her hand and the clone flew back. His back hit the wall and he grunted.

‘Your friends have fled. I know you have a base somewhere near. Tell me where it is.’

Comet cocked a brow. ‘You really think we’ll tell you?’

‘We’ll find it anyway, just later. You tell me where it is and you might save your miserable hides.’

Sith Lady grabbed a hilt and activated a lightsaber.

‘I count to five and then I start killing. One.’

It was a bluff. It _must_ have been a bluff, who starts killing prisoners so soon. Wolffe looked at his men. They wouldn’t say a word, that’s what they had been taught. Asajj must have known it.

‘Five’ she spat and swung her blade. Big Mouth’s head rolled on the floor and the body slowly slanted on the ground. Comet screamed.

‘I give you one more chance’ Asajj said, raising the sword. The clones startled and wiggled away from her as much as tied limbs allowed them. ‘One.’

‘If you kill as all you will know nothing!’ Wolffe growled.

‘I know that commander. But it may force _you_ to speak and save you men’ she barred her teeth. ‘Five.’

Red blade swiftly beheaded Boost. Dead body fell on Alpha’s knees. The clone shuddered, swallowing down a shout.

Asajj was clearly pleased with herself. Wolffe glared at her with good eye.

‘And what you’ve gained with those pointless murders?’ he asked, voice trembling with anger.

‘Your attention, commander. You still have two more people alive.’ She pointed the tip of the sword to Alpha’s neck, fizzling laser almost burning the skin. ‘You may reconsider your attitude if you want to keep them alive.’

Fury erupted in Wolffe’s chest. He’d never been so helpless. Yes, his men had died on the battlefield, but it was different. They had served their duty and it was an honor to die in battle. But being killed in captive, unarmed, it was humiliating. The only way to help the Republic now was to keep their mouths shut and watch brothers die for the cause, even though they didn’t deserve such end.

Asajj grew tired of their stubborn silence. Instead of cutting his head off, she pushed the blade through Alpha’s chest, slowly, drinking in his screams and convulsions. When the saber poked from clone’s back she yanked it back. The third body dropped to the floor.

‘You clones are annoying’ the Sith turned the sword off and holstered the hilt to belt. ‘Looks like you value your lives as much as a droid.’

She leant over cowering Comet and lifted him with one fist closed around his throat. The woman looked directly at Wolffe.

‘Don’t you really care about his life? You subordinate, your brother?’

Wolffe only gritted his teeth tighter, an ache of jaw dissipating in pain of the wound. He looked at Comet and saw acceptance in his eyes. His brother knew he wouldn’t leave the cell alive. They were born to serve and die for the Republic, Republic that didn’t even care for its soldiers. They were just a string of numbers, part of statistics. But the Wolfpack was made of good soldiers. The best. Wolffe had seen to it.

Asajj threw Comet at Wolffe’s feet and struck him with a lightning bolt from her hand. The clone shrieked, arching as his muscles contracted with current flowing through his body. Wolffe turned his head away, unable to look at tortured brother, but an invisible force tilted his head back to see Comet.

‘Look at him. You can stop it’ the Sith said.

No, Wolffe couldn’t. For Republic’s sake he had to stay silent, but at what cost?

Comet stiffened and then went limp, wide open eyes losing their lively gloss. Asajj stopped the current and tutted.

‘Pity. It seems we’re alone now commander.’

Wolffe braced himself for the pain. He thought nothing could hurt more than a slash across his face. Electric shock proved him wrong.

His mouth opened in silent scream to snap shut as his jaw contracted, like the rest of muscles. He collapsed on the floor, whole body bowed unnaturally. Every body part from tip of head to very toes hurt impossibly fried with the lightning.

The bolt died out and Wolffe wheezed for breath. Muscles still twitched uncoordinatedly. He smelled burnt flesh.

‘Your pal must have had a weak heart, but you’re stronger than him. With you I can do it all day’ the woman said, part bored and part impatient.

‘I… won’t… tell…’ Wolffe grunted. The wound on face had reopened, weeping with fresh blood trickling over his nose and mouth.

‘Let’s see how tough you are.’

Before the next strike came in the door appeared a droid.

‘Um, ma’am, we have a situation’ it announced nervously.

Asajj turned to the robot, angry it dared to interrupt her. ‘What situation?!’

‘Clone forces have breached into the mines. They’re destroying us and soon they’ll disable the stat-‘

High-pitched voice suddenly went silent when furious Asajj tore droid’s head apart from neck with the Force. A clank of metal hitting the floor echoed in the cell.

‘So your friends are here. I don’t need you any longer, I’ll finish them all here’ she barked and attacked.

This time a short scream left Wolffe’s throat before it closed. He wasn’t able to breath in. Every millimeter of his body shouted, nerves and muscles burning. The skin sizzled and crackled like a piece of leather thrown into a bonfire. The sickening stench of scorched body now filled the whole room.

Wolffe didn’t know any religion, wasn’t even programmed to believe in supernatural powers beside the Force, but now every still functioning neuron in his brain prayed to any gods for death to come as soon as possible.

It was almost no difference when the lightning stopped. Wolffe’s heart barely beat. He felt the end coming, reaching for him with its greedy hands.

If he died, what would happen to his destined Jedi? Would they know? Would the Force found them another commander, maybe even better than Wolffe?

He was slipping into darkness when he heard someone calling his name. He had only heard him speaking two sentences in total, but he would recognize this voice anywhere. Master Plo.

The pain finally vanished as Wolffe passed out.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

First time Wolffe didn’t even open his eyes. It took a while until he figured out the sounds he was hearing weren’t another dream but reality. Although he didn’t comprehend what they were talking about, he recognized the voices. He had the same voice.

He was surrounded by his brothers. He was in safety. He couldn’t move because his skin was rigid like covered with a layer of dried mud, but he didn’t feel pain anymore. How had he got here – it didn’t matter now. He had been rescued, so the mines bust have been taken back by Republic troops. The task had been completed.

Wolffe relaxed and slipped back into welcoming numbness. 

*          *

Second time Wolffe languidly stirred to consciousness. Something behind his head was beeping madly. He was warm and comfortable – definitely no longer in captive. Face muscles twitched and facial injury pinched with dull ache, but it was nothing like previously. Wolffe gingerly raised a hand and touched a strip of dressing covering the slash. The painful swell of half of face had dissipated. The skin around the wound still pulled awkwardly but grimacing wasn’t an agony anymore. 

‘Welcome back.’

Wolffe jerked, surprised there was someone else in the room. He opened the eye and glanced around. He recognized standard interior design of patient room in Kaminoan medbay. Beside Wolffe’s bed sat motionless Master Plo, as illegible because of the mask and lenses as the last time.

The clone gaped at Plo with eye wide open. He felt it again – ringing in ears, warmth pouring into heart and lungs. He burned to reach for the Jedi. He might have died if he didn’t touch the Kel Dor now, when he was at arm’s reach. But his limbs were as heavy as lead…

Plo scooted closer and lied one clawed hand on Wolffe’s wrist. Electric shock ran up clone’s arm, feeding the yearning, but it wasn’t enough. Wolffe grabbed the hand and hugged it to his chest, curling around it like it was the most precious treasure. Plo was _his_ , no one would tell him otherwise. He wouldn’t let go of Plo. They could demote him to the rank of private, even expel him; now the punishment would hurt no one but Wolffe…

He found his Jedi but the Wolfpack didn’t live to see it and fight under their joined command.

Wolffe howled and broke into erratic sobbing. He had failed again. The whole squad was dead, their bodies buried in snowy mountains on lesser planet. Four of them had been slaughtered like animals. They all had trusted Wolffe would lead them to victory, and _he had failed them_.

Plo seemed to sense his sorrow and reasons behind it. His presence helped, but didn’t diminished the heartache entirely. The Jedi rested second hand on Wolffe’s shoulder and squeezed consolingly. He didn’t talk and Wolffe was grateful for that. Plo was an officer too and knew the pain of losing men. Wolffe would be better eventually, but before he needed to cry the grief out.

Wolffe must have looked pitiful, but Plo didn’t leave. He watched the clone with blank face, stroking the whimpering man until Wolffe calmed down.

*          *

Wolffe spent several weeks on Kamino, recovering from injuries and adapting to the impairment. While he had been unconscious he have been submerged in bacta tank for two weeks to fix the burnings inflicted by Force lightning. They had healed well leaving no scarring, except the wound on his face. This one had left prominent red mark. _At least I stand out from the crowd of clones_ , Wolffe told himself with amusement. Scars were no shame for a soldier.

In contrary, loss of eye was a serious problem. Wolffe had been given an implant, a plate covering milky right eye -  with just one functioning eye he wouldn’t be permitted to return on the front. It had taken quite a time before Wolffe’s brain learnt to process the signal from the prosthetic. Stumbling in the middle of straight corridor because he suddenly started to see double or upside down had happened regularly.  

Meanwhile he was ordered to reconstruct the Wolfpack from unassigned clones. Wolffe had spent hours heartlessly leafing through countless files. He evaluated their performance in combat simulations and finally picked a handful of troopers, still completely indifferent. These men weren’t _his_ Wolfpack. They were obedient, ready to rush into hostile fire if Wolffe ordered so, but their compliance hadn’t been earned. The old team had been his brothers in arms, _companions_ , and these… These were just subordinates.

At least losing them wouldn’t leave another gaping black hole in Wolffe’s heart.  

Plo had stayed on Kamino as long as duties allowed him, which was less than two cycles. He had been all that time by Wolffe’s bed, satiating the bond weaving between them, but mostly because Wolffe have been constantly holding his hand.

After his departure the wound in Wolffe’s heart had reopened, but it didn’t hurt that much again. It was more like itching, nagging him to be close to the Jedi again. Only when the high command authorized new Wolfpack squad and doctors permitted Wolffe to fight, the commander and his new team were sent to the battlefield under general Plo Koon’s lead.

The gossips came to be true. Fighting beside _his_ Jedi was completely different. Infinitely better. New strange energy filled him as he charged into battle, feeling invincible, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. Wolffe’s instincts had honed, often warning him in time of unexpected assault. He and Plo understood one another without words and could easily predict other’s moves and decisions. Together they forged perfect tactics that led their team from victory to victory.  

But it was still not enough to stop cogs of war. Every time the Republic had the upper hand the opponent seemed to foresee Grand Army’s next move – and surprised it, usually with knocking-out strike. Wolfpack suffered losses too. Plo and Wolffe had been severely wounded couple times. Even though they had managed to flee the death, it was obvious one day they would be no longer able to escape their fate.

*          *

Cato Neimoidia was a bizarre world, and it was an opinion of a person who’d been to all sort of planets, icy and scorched, inhabited and desolated. And Cato Neimoidia, with its rock spires, constant fog and rich cities suspended on countless bridges over the ocean, floating between clouds, was bewildering.

Wolffe had no time to marvel at planet’s unusual allure. Republic starships were beating Separatists forces in the air and the troopers had been dropped to fight on the ground. Narrow bridges were difficult to conquer, but at least were solid and stable, unlike some other places Wolffe had battled.

The clones were squatting by bridge’s walls and showering oncoming wave of droids with blaster fire. Ahead, avoiding both friendly and hostile fire, swirled Plo Koon, his icy blue blade cutting droids to pieces. Metal chunks littered the ground hindering the path for next waves of robots. Separatists numbers grew short and clones were restless; it seemed the battle would be over soon and one of Trade Federation’s most important planet would fall in Republic’s hands.

Wolffe’s comm buzzed. He hit the button and above his hand appeared a holo of a stranger obscured in long cloak with hood.

‘Commander Wolffe. Execute order sixty-six’ the stranger rasped.

Something in Wolffe’s head clicked, like a switch turning on, but not entirely, like the words were an old code which meaning he had forgotten.

‘Execute order sixty-six!’ he barked to comm on Wolfpack channel.

He was answered with a choir of “Yessir!”. The clones stood up and turned their guns at the Jedi.

Wolffe’s heart stopped beating as he rushed forward.

He got to Plo in time to shield the Kel Dor from the first volley of blows, but he couldn’t prevent next dozens of shots coming from Wolfpack guns. Plo’s hands tightened around his shoulders, their bodies shuddering with next bolts. It hurt, but no more than knowing that he didn’t protect the Jedi from betrayal.

They let out their last breaths embraced together and looking at each other on stones of Cato Neimoidian bridge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wolffe shouted.

He was surrounded by darkness, his heart still racing wildly and head swimming.

‘Wolffe? What’s happening? Wolffe, dear, come back to me.’

Rough skin and sharp claws touched his naked arm. A Kel Dor, without a doubt. But Plo had just died in his arms, on the foggy planet of countless bridges…

‘Light, ten percent.’

Low light lit the room, casting long shadows. Wolffe turned and saw Plo beside him in the bed, with one hand closed around clone’s arm. The hand felt warm and solid. Definitely material.  

A dream. Just a dream.

Wolffe leant against the Jedi, shaking and weeping. He nuzzled at orange skin, breathing in familiar comforting scent. Claws scratched his scalp in soothing circles.

‘What was it Wolffe? Tell me dear’ Plo asked gently. He was full of kindness, even if he only showed it to Wolffe in the privacy of their quarters.

Wolffe had moved to Plo short after they’ve finally been assigned together. Plo had convinced Wolffe it’s a common practice between bonded Jedi generals and clone commanders. Sex and intimacy had followed naturally. They had developed a strange but comfortable relationship and Wolffe didn’t care if was normal or not as long as they were both satisfied.

‘I- I saw you dying. I t-tried to protect you but-‘ Wolffe’s voice broke. The scene was replaying before his eyes in loop, even though he would gladly wipe it out his memory.

Plo hugged him closer. He was warm against clone’s naked skin. They slept only in underwear, often entwined and sharing warmth. Wolffe clinged to sturdy frame of the Kel Dor, reliable like a rock among storm. Current of energy flowed between them, calming Wolffe down.

It was just a nightmare. Plo was with him, alive, safe and sound.

Eventually Wolffe stopped crying and worked his pulse and breath slower. Plo was watching him, curious and worried alike. Though at first he seemed illegible, Wolffe had learnt to read his emotions. Plo had surprisingly lot of them.

Wolffe inhaled and spoke, ‘We were fighting on Cato Neimoidia, I think. It was foggy and there were cities built on bridges, like on the holos I saw. Then I got an… An order, from a man I didn’t know. I knew I should have done something when I heard him, but I didn’t know what. I repeated the order to my men, and…’

Wolffe’s lips quivered. He bit at lower lip and continued, ‘And they turned against you, droids forgotten. I ran to you but it was too late. It was so real, I can still smell blaster burns…’

Plo studied him, sunken in thoughts. He had explained to Wolffe once why Jedi didn’t underestimate dreams and visions. Wolffe, now constantly exposed to the Force via their bond, might have experienced them too. That was the only reason why Wolffe didn’t cast the nightmare away from his mind as soon as he understood it wasn’t real.

‘It’s not a good sign’ Plo said at last. He didn’t let go on the clone yet, sensing his anxiety despite apparent calmness.

‘What do you think it means?’ Wolffe whispered. With heart clogging his throat he had trouble talking.

‘I will meditate on that. Hopefully the Force will bring us answers.’

Wolffe sighed and rested head on Plo’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. He would trust the Force because Plo trusted it. He would trust the Force would protect his Jedi from harm.

 


End file.
